


Avantika Rising

by seasaltedwolverine



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avantika's working through some issues, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Shivu is actually impossible on pretty much every front, can't have a love story if ya don't have a personality, just about everyone eventually, mostly the same but this time with character arcs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-04-04 00:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14008476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasaltedwolverine/pseuds/seasaltedwolverine
Summary: Avantika has lived her life in a constant struggle against tyranny in service of a cause where failure means death. Her life is worth exactly as much as she can devote to her cause. Her world is harsh and justice is to be fought for but not expected.So what is she to do when her life is saved by an optimist?





	1. Fallen

She crashes through the ice laden brush, a hunted tiger. The soldiers behind are fast, trained in running down rebels like her. Her squad has harassed them for months now and the soldiers are motivated. They’re out for blood and the tiniest mistake had given them the opportunity. She can hear their bellowed curses and promises of violence behind her. Her own soldiers would have saved their breath.

Her mind races faster than her feet. She has no weapon, she can not stand and fight. There are too many. Her archers are not where they should be, she has no one to help her. What should have been a stealthy ambush as they tracked her slowly through the woods has turned into a mad dash for survival.

  
The woods are too open to lose them, and the soldiers are closing in. They have no archers with them and she is grateful for that, otherwise she would have been brought down already.

When they catch her they will torture her for information. It is not fear of pain or death that drives her speed. It is knowledge that even she will eventually break and tell them. She will not allow herself to be taken alive and put such a risk to her people and their goal. She will cut out her own tongue first.

She breaks into the open and her heart falls. In her race from danger she has gone further south than she meant, and the river blocks her way. The river has ever been the savior of her and her people, a barrier against harm, and now it traps her on the wrong side.

She runs with the current, splashing through the shallows. It’s loud but stealth is long forgotten and desperation gives her speed. The soldiers balk and the banks of the river and for just one heady moment Avantika can hear the roar of victory in her blood as their hesitation gives her the barest chance of outrunning them. She can run along the river and double back across the river valley to lose her pursuers in the mountains. The river will save her once more.

Then the river ends.

The edge of the world rears up beneath her feet and Avantika just barely skids to a halt before the water carries her away. It’s almost not enough and the current of the river pulls her feet to the very edge before she stops. The river roars as it tumbles and if there is a bottom to this abyss she can’t see it. Clouds drift beneath her feet and she can see an eagle wheeling in the sky below. It is as small as it would be were it high in the sky above.

Her heart pounds and her breathing is harsh, but for just one second her desperation and the danger behind her seems to mute. She stands transfixed by the power of the waterfall and the vastness of empty space. She can feel the rumbling power of the falls just as she feels her own breath in her lungs. The emptiness calls to her and it feels almost familiar.

  
Suddenly it feels very important that she stands, here, now, with the might of the river rushing between her knees and the sky before her and she’s not sure why. It feels like prophecy long forgotten and nothing else seems to matter.

Reality seems far away and though she can hear the soldiers close in behind her she doesn’t turn to face them. There is nowhere left for her to run. They dare not come this close to the edge. She hears the grunt of effort and the flight of a spear, but it doesn’t matter to her. The fact it hits her is a surprise but pain of the spear as it enters her shoulder is inconsequential. The momentum is not.

The weight of the weapon forces her off balance and she stumbles. That raw second seals her fate, her feet sliding off the edge. She laments that her death does not come in the service of her oath. But as she falls into the abyss she thinks it is not a bad death.

She falls with the water.


	2. Isolation

Avantika does not expect to wake up. But she does, lying on cold rock with frigid water pouring over her. She shivers and every part of her is in agony. She doesn’t know how far she fell but she evidently hit several things on the way down. She is so cold it hurts to move. It hurts to breathe.

Her world is reduced to pain and the icy water and the rock beneath her. There is no cause, there is no Lady Davesena, there is no tyrannical Mahishmati, there is no martyred Kuntala. There is just her, the water, and the slow drip of her own blood.

A lifetime of training forces it’s way through the haze of injury. She’s vulnerable here. The danger is not gone, danger is never gone. A child could take her captive and she’s too weak to put up a fight. She must see threats before she can defend against them. Her thoughts feel broken inside her head, pieces of ideas. She focuses on breathing, forcing her mind to clear. 

She lifts her head enough to see her surroundings. The world lurches painfully and she squeezes her eyes shut, sucking quick breaths through clenched teeth. She must have cut her head at some point because blood drips through her eyebrow and gets suck in her lashes. She ignores her throbbing skull, like she ignores everything else that has ever tried to stop her and opens her eyes again.

Her haven is a rough ledge of bare rock barely wider than she is. The water streaming over her is a small trickle compared to the roar of the waterfall on all sides. At the far end of the ledge a golden eagle sits, watching her. She bares her teeth at it. The bird blinks. 

She can see the last of the sun as it disappears in mist of lavender and rose. Glittering light fades from the falling water. It would be beautiful if the night did not mean cold winds and colder water.

She has to get out of this water. She will force herself to survive this. She will get out of this water and somehow survive the night. She will survive the night and find a hole and hide and heal. She will do this thing like she has made herself do so many things in the past, a series of small steps. She just has to get out of this water. Which means she has to move.

She rolls to crawl but her shoulder screams at her. The spear head still pierces her back, though most of the shaft has broken off. She bites back a whimper. The pain doesn’t matter, and she forces herself to move.

She drags herself over rough stone, ignoring the scrape of skin on rock. She’s numb anyway. She forces one arm in front of the other and pulls herself forward, inch by cold, slow inch. The effort of crawling forces blood through her body and she shivers. Icy water rains down on her with punishing force. Her skull throbs. She writhes on, out of the falls, leaving a wet and bloody track. Moving hurts, but lots of things hurt. 

Nothing is better out of the water, but it feels like enough of an accomplishment to let herself rest. The rock is cold and damp under her cheek. She breathes steady and deep and sorts out all the different layers of pain.

For as much as it hurts, it’s not all that bad. Her side feels tight and twinges with her breathing; cracked ribs she can deal with. She’s covered in cuts and scrapes, from her mad dash through the woods and the fall. None are deep enough to worry about and most have stopped bleeding. Her head pounds with the beat of her heart and she’s too dizzy do much more than lift her head but she knows that will pass.

Her shoulder is another matter. Her leather armor didn’t stop anything, but it slowed down the spear enough that it didn’t cause too much damage. She can feel the spearhead grate on bone when she moves but, her shoulder blade isn’t broken. Her arm isn’t dislocated. She can still move it. She’ll survive this.

She wraps her fingers around the splintered wood of the spear haft. Every tremble of her limbs translates as a deep searing pain in her back and she grits her teeth. She’ll survive this too.

Her vision goes white when she rips the blade out. She whimpers but doesn’t scream. She’s too well trained for that. She lets her head drop to the cold rock. She sucks in shuddery breaths and grips the spearhead so hard her knuckles ache. Gradually the pain fades to a dull roar and the world creeps back in.

The edge is near and she gingerly peeks over. The bottom of the falls is nowhere in sight, lost in the darkening mists. She rolls on her side to look above her. If she only fell a short way… the thought dies before she finishes it. The cliffs above her are somehow greater than the ones below. 

She can’t climb up or down, injured as she is. She will survive tonight, she can even survive tomorrow night, but she cannot climb this mountain. She doubts anyone can. No one will ever find her on these isolated cliffs. Not the soldiers hunting her, not her own people. She’s not a liability and that’s a cold consolation.

The light disappears in shades and with it her hope. She won’t make it off this mountain. The first star lights the sky and Avantika is so tired. She fixes her gaze on the little point of light and wonders if Lady Davesena watches the stars from her captivity. The eagle is nowhere to be seen and it makes her feel better that she’ll most likely die before the scavengers eat her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inside of Avantika's head is not a particularly friendly place and I blame a lifetime of rebel/ refugee status but character growth is a thing and it's coming on down the line momentarily
> 
> I did my fact checking and according to an EMT friend all her injuries are in fact plausible within the plot and survivable


	3. Foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's SHIVU - our favorite overpowered dipshit waiting around in his village for plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, its been nine months since I updated and I'm not sorry. (I'm a little sorry) Just pretend I had a life in between posting chapters. I adopted a dog, got married, fought a bear, went Antarctica, got arrested, had a kid, added like 8 in between chapters to this fic, burnt down a public building, kissed Beyonce, whatever excuse makes you happy.
> 
> but really the chapter count on this thing exploded and most of those are written. its the end of the beginning part of the story i have issues with.

Shivu does not roll his eyes at his mother. Sanga is the wife of the chief and no one rolls their eyes at her. She is a force that bends all to her will and Shivu wonders if there is a queen on earth whose people follow their leader quite like they do in this little village.

His mother says that the world ends at the water fall and maybe for her it does. But Shivu knows there is more. He knows that the river brought him to his mother. He came from somewhere. He loves his mother like she was his own, and perhaps more, because while there are many circumstances that would make a woman abandon a child, Sanga chose to care for him. Even so, he longs to know.

His father says that someday Shivu will make a great chief. He is strong, his father says. His is well liked by the people. Shivu wonders if that’s all one needs to be. 

He is the tallest man in the village and by far the strongest. But his father is wiser. No matter what he does Shivu knows he will never have the imperturbable calm of his father. Neither his wife’s temper nor the petty disputes he presides over can ruffle his composure. He is not indifferent or ignorant but rather serenely accepting of life’s chances, removed from the turmoil of reaction.

Maybe a touch too removed Shivu thinks.

A farmer has received a stud bull as bride price for his daughter. His father has been asked to break up the fomenting arguments about the price of a stud but has instead elected to let the farmers yell at one another until they feel foolish enough to act reasonably.

Surrounded by raised voices, the bull tosses its head and starts to snort. Shivu could sympathize. The bellowing argument is pointless and grating on his nerves too.

One of the farmers gestures a little too hard with the lead of the bull and in half an instant the bull shifts from annoyed to enraged and throws its lead.

The bull charges his father and Shivu moves like water. One arm shoves his father out of harms way and the other grabs the bull’s horn in a vise grip. He forces the bull to wheel, stealing its speed. To let go would release the bull to go ravage someone else, so, Shivu crashes the bull into his own chest and locks an arm around its head. The bull’s hooves scrabble in the mud as it tries to toss him off, but though his feet may slide in the mud Shivu is immovable.

“Be Calm!” Shivu spits through his teeth. Vaguely he thinks he sounds like his mother, arguing with dumb animals. The bull snorts and stomps and Shivu tightens his grip. He won’t hurt the beast, a bull like this is far too valuable to their little village.

Its head held fast here is nothing the bull can do but tire itself against Shivu’s strength. He waits for the heaving gasps of the bull to turn into placid snuffles once more, its head locked in his arms. Slowly the fire leaves its eyes while Shivu mumbles soothing nonsense about pastures and grain. He loosens his hold and when the bull doesn’t explode out of his grip, lets it loose entirely. 

The farmer darts in with a lead and Shivu turns to see his father sitting in the mud where he fell, content as can be, with a satisfied smile on his face. Shivu would worry that he was hurt but it seems that his father simply found a good spot to watch his son wrestle the bull. He’s impressed he says, by Shivu’s good choices and quick thinking. Shivu is fairly certain any one else would have been killed by the mad bull, quick thinking or no, but his father has long since learned to hold him to a different standard. 

His parents teach him all they know. How to lead how to reason and explain his ideas, how to break down the walls of a feud, how to resolve arguments without resentment and when to stand his ground, do what is right, and never compromise. His mother thinks he learned this last one too well. 

His life is blessed, idyllic even. There is no obstacle to challenge him, no problem that can not be solved.

The waterfall has drawn him since he was a child. When he was young his mother would pull him off the cliffs three times a day and has spent most of her life distracting him from it. Now he is older, and he cares for his mother and his village, but the roar of the water still calls to him. Every few days he climbs and each new route he tries takes him a little bit further. Sometimes he climbs long enough that an entire day can pass and part of the next.

But he always falls. His mother says that one day his luck will run out and he will hurt himself badly. But despite falling incredible heights he has never more than a bruise and a scrape and the obstinate drive to try again. 

Today his mother is going to work herself to death trying to get the gods to bend to her will and do as she says because it’s easier than trying to get Shivu to listen. Sanga is caught between believing the water mountain is an impossible obstacle and believing that the son gifted to her by the river goddess can do anything. She’s decided to err on the side of caution and get the gods on her side before she the situation requires them.

So she laboriously heaves another jar of water up and over the Shivalinga, while Shivu tries to reason with her. His father’s no help at all, waylaid by a single glare. The sage seems to be actively encouraging his mother and Shivu is trying to think of the politest way to tell the old man to shut up. 

He can’t carry the water and he can’t carry his mother and he can’t just tie the sage to a tree somewhere. He’s out of options and his mind jumps unbidden to the waterfall. So, her god wants a bath.

He brings the Shivalinga to his waterfall where it bathes eternal. His mother is finally satisfied.

Until the mask falls from the water.


	4. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shivu climbs the waterfall, has the first of many reality checks.

This time he’s going to make it. 

He’s going to make it to the world beyond the waterfall. He’s going to get out of this river valley with its identical villages and happily homebound people. He’s going to go find the woman behind the mask. He can almost see her beckoning him onwards. He leaps from the ledge, and it might be luck, but it feels like destiny and he makes it. 

And he chases the dream onwards and upwards. She’s a mirage of mist and butterflies and nothing more than a fantastic ideal, an illusion on the spray of the thundering water. But even the most fanciful idea is something to strive for. She steadies him on the precarious ledge and guides him over the slick rock. She lends strength to his hands as he dangles over the abyss. Every convenient vine and stable handhold is her doing. Every foot he gains is for her.

His world falls away behind him and the only reason he exists is to climb higher, to reach her. He was made to bound from rock to rock, to rise without fear. He was meant to climb this mountain and this mountain was meant to challenge him. He’s going to make it.

The sun sinking below the clouds gilds the cliffs and turns the running water to liquid gold. Shivu’s entire world glitters with brilliance. Soon the moon will turn it to silver and the sky to a garden of stars. He is higher than he has ever been, further than he’s ever gone and he is tired. He doesn’t want to stop, but he knows he needs rest. The effort of the climb sits heavy in his shoulders but the ache is nothing more than the cliffs already scaled, the ground already covered. It won’t stop him.

He watches the sun dye the clouds saffron as it sinks into twilight from a rocky out crop. He can see broader ledges above, a place to rest before he continues on. 

He pulls himself over a ledge and he’s not alone anymore. He’s not the only soul on this mountain. The waterfall seems to enjoy dropping things into his life. This most recent seems to be a person.

They’re lying on their face but once he’s closer he can see it’s the form of a young woman, slight yet powerful. She doesn’t move as he draws near and he can see the blood that stains the rock around her. Her smooth skin is cold to his touch, but she breathes. 

She doesn’t stir as he ever so gently rolls her over and the soft light of the dusky twilight shows her face. 

It’s her. He knows it’s her like he knows he must climb the waterfall. His lady behind the mask is a woman sodden and bleeding on a rock, saved from falling to her death by dumb luck and the grace of Shiva. Shivu is not terribly sure what he expected of this woman when he found her, but half dead on the side of a mountain wasn’t on the list. 

His first thought is to take her home, to get her safe and care for her there. But the long cliff below for the very first time in his life seems an obstacle. He’s not sure he could carry her back down, but they are nowhere near the top. He gathers her into his arms and her eyes slide open. She’s hurt and lost and confused but the flame of her eyes, the determination and fortitude, is unlike anything Shivu has ever seen. The idea of this woman that lead him this far is a pale shadow of the one he holds in his arms. 

She looks at him for a long moment without seeing him. Her bright eyes close and her head rolls against his chest. Shivu has never held something so precious.

Someone hurt her. Someone tried to kill her. It seems an impossible concept but the bloody spear head she’s clinging to came from her own back. Shivu doesn’t want to think about the kind of person who stabs a woman in the back, but he’s fairly sure he could kill someone like that.

He just holds her for a bit, warming her cold skin with his own. He has scaled mountains for just the vague idea of this woman but now, holding her in his arms he could move mountains for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an update in a timely ish fashion? be so proud. but really the rest should be along much faster. i don't write or think in a very organized or linear manner so while the beginning of this story foundered, the middle is mostly sketched out and the end is done and polished and has a damn epilogue


End file.
